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I have been a reader and fan of Anais Nin's work for a number of years now. I was aware of her association with Henry Miller but up until now had not read anything of his. I know a few people who feel you should like either one or the other, but not both. I have heard people say a similar thing about Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes, (I own works by both of them), Jackson Pollock and Lee Krasner, and Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera. I find this a strange attitude to have, regardless of who they were as people, or how miserable or wonderful their relationships were, they were all passionate creators of their craft. I can understand someone liking the work of one more than the work of their lover, but to suggest that you can not enjoy both, that you must choose between the two - like taking sides - seems ludicrous to me. Especially when someone has not even read the work of the person they are criticising.
I want to copy this excerpt from Miller's book, Sexus, here, so that I can re-read it whenever I like. Not to say that I agree with everything that is written, but I certainly find it interesting and thought provoking.
He went on after a moment's reflection: 'Now painting is a little different, to my way of thinking. It takes more to appreciate a good painting than to appreciate a good book. People seem to think that because they know how to read and write they can tell a good book from a bad one. Even writers, good writers, I mean, aren't in agreement about what is good and what is bad. Neither are painters about paintings, for that matter. And yet I have the notion that in general painters are more in accord about the merits or lack of merits in the work of well-known painters than writers are with respect to writing. Only a half-asses painter would deny the value of Cezanne's work, for instance. But take the case of Dickens or of Henry James, and see what astounding differences of opinion there are among capable writers and critics as to their respective merits. If there were a writer today as bizarre in his realm as Picasso is in his you'd soon see what I'm driving at. Even if they don't like his work, most people who know anything about art agree that Picasso is a great genius. Now take Joyce, who's fairly eccentric as a writer, has he gained anything like the prestige of Picasso? Except for a scholarly few, except for the snobs who try to keep up with everything, his reputation, such as it is today, stands largely on the fact that he's a freak. His genius is admitted, i agree, but it's tainted, so to speak. Picasso commands respect, even if he isn't always understood. But Joyce is something of a butt; hs fame increases precisely because he can't be generally understood. He's accepted as a freak, a phenomenon, like the Cardiff Giant....And another thing, while I'm at it - no matter how daring the painter of genius may be, he's far more quickly assimilated than a writer of the same caliber. At the most, it takes thirty to forty years for a revolutionary painter to be accepted; it takes a writer centuries sometimes......'
'........Well supposing you say to yourself - the hell with becoming an artist, I know I am one, I'll just be it - what then? What does it mean, to be an artist? Does it mean that you have to write books or make pictures? That's secondary, I take it - that's the mere evidence of the fact that you are one....Supposing, Henry, you had written the greatest book ever written and you lost the manuscript just after you had completed it? And supposing nobody knew that you had been writing this great book, not even your closest friend? In that case you'd be just where I am who haven't put a stroke on paper, wouldn't you? If we were both to die suddenly, at that point, the world would never know that either of us was an artist. I would have had a good time of it and you would have wasted your whole life.'
At this point Ulric couldn't stand it any longer. 'It's just the contrary', he protested. 'An artist doesn't enjoy life by evading his task. You're the one who would be wasting his life. Art isn't a solo performance; it's a symphony in the dark with millions of participants and millions of listeners. The enjoyment of a beautiful thought is nothing to the joy of giving it expression - permanent expression. In fact, it's almost a sheer impossibility to refrain from giving expression to a great thought. We're only instruments of a greater power. We're creators by permission, by grace, as it were. No one creates alone, of and by himself. An artist is an instrument that registers something already existent, something which belongs to the whole world and which, if he is an artist, he is compelled to give back to the world. To keep one's beautiful ideas to oneself would be like being a virtuoso and sitting in an orchestra with hands folded. You couldn't do it! As for that illustration you gave, of an author losing his life's work in manuscript, why I'd compare such a person to a wonderful musician who had been playing with the orchestra all the time, only in another room, where nobody heard him. But that wouldn't make him any the less a participant, nor would it rob him of the pleasure to be had in following the orchestra leader or hearing the music which his instrument gave forth. The greatest mistake you make is in thinking that enjoyment is something unearned, that if you know you can play the fiddle, well, it's just the same as playing it. It's so silly that I don't know why I bother to discuss it. As for the reward, you're always confusing recognition with reward. They're two different things. Even if you don't get paid for what you do, you at least have the satisfaction of doing. It's a pity we lay such emphasis on being paid for our labors - it really isn't necessary, and nobody knows it better than the artist. The reason why he has had such a miserable time of it is because he elects to do his work gratuitously. He forgets, as you say, that he has to live. But that's really a blessing. It's much better to be preoccupied with wonderful ideas than with the next meal, or the rent, or a pair of new shoes. Of course when you get to the point where you must eat, and you haven't anything to eat, then to eat becomes and obsession. But the difference between an artist and the ordinary individual is that when the artist does get a meal he immediately falls back into his own limitless world, and while he's in that world he's a king, whereas your ordinary duffer is just a filling station with nothing in between but dust and smoke. And even supposing you're not an ordinary chap, but a wealthy individual, one who can indulge his tastes, his whims, his appetites: do you suppose for one minute that millionaire enjoys food or wine or women like a hungry artist does? To enjoy anything you have to make yourself ready to receive it; it implies a certain control, discipline, chastity, I might even say. Above all, it implies desire, and desire is something you have to nourish by right living. I'm speaking now as if I were an artist, and I'm not really. I'm just a commercial illustrator, but I do know enough about it to say that I envy the man who has the courage to be an artist - I envy him because I know that he's infinitely richer than any other kind of human being. He's richer because he spends himself, because he gives himself all the time, and not just labor or money or gifts. You couldn't possibly be an artist, in the first place, because you lack faith. You couldn't possibly have beautiful ideas because you kill them off in advance. You deny what it takes to make beauty, which is love, love of life itself, love of life for its own sake. You see the flaw, the worm, in everything. An artist, even when he detects a flaw, makes it into something flawless, if I may put it that way. He doesn't try to pretend that a worm is a flower or an angel, but he incorporates the worm into something bigger. He knows that the world isn't full of worms, even if he sees a million or a billion of them. You see a tiny worm and you say - "Look, see how rotten everything is!" You can't see beyond the worm....Well, excuse me, I didn't mean to put it so caustically or so personally. But I hope you see what I'm driving at....'
- excerpt from Henry Miller's 'Sexus' (1949), the first book of the 'Rosy Crucifixion' trilogy.
I started painting again yesterday. Well, technically, I started 'painting' today. Yesterday saw me plan the two new small works I have been asked to submit for a group exhibition at Greenhill Galleries in Perth next month.
I have not painted or even really done much drawing since I returned to Osaka on April 17. That is a long time away from my love. The recess was part voluntary and part involuntary, the latter due to recent dissolution toward the commercial art world, or at least a small part of it, the afore mentioned was just a bit of R and R after my exhibition. I'll take just one R from the standard: 'Rest and Relaxation'... the other R must stand for Reflect.
How 3 weeks can fly! Time to get back into what I love and what is a necessity for me - making art.
Thanks to recent dealings with people who have restored some of my faith in the commercial art world, and a few certain literary works that have restored my determination and, in a strange sense, offered empathy, (particularly an excerpt from Henry Miller's 'Sexus' that J read me the other day), my inspiration has been re-fuelled and I am ready for the next creative journey.
Osaka is not a city that inspires - fortunately, however, it is surrounded by places that do.
In need of some inspiration and a taste of the 'old-world' Japan, the best part of yesterday was spent in Nara; a 45 minute train ride from home. It was most enjoyable to get out of Osaka and see some 'green', some nature - which is one thing this industrial, concrete city lacks.
Nara is home to six impressive Buddhist temples, a Shinto shrine and Heijō Palace, which was the Imperial Palace of Japan from 710-784 AD. Just thinking about these dates and this country's extensive religious and cultural history amazes me, especially coming from such a young country like Australia.
Nara is also well known for the free roaming, tame deer, found throughout the temple grounds and parkland. According to the legendary history of Kasuga Shrine, a mythological god, Takemikazuchi, arrived in Nara on a white deer to guard the newly built capital of Heijō-kyō. Deers were regarded as heavenly animals and thought to protect the city, and the country.
I am developing a fascination for Japanese folklore, particularly those that feature animals with supernatural powers. I shall be curious to see if this interest sprouts inspiration that influences my work in the near future.
Speaking of inspirational writings, Haruki Murakami's new novel, 'After Dark', was released on Tuesday and I am yet to get my hands on a copy. I had planned to race down to the bookstore yesterday, however, I have been distracted by the work of another writer. I recently purchased a copy of Soseki Natsume's 'I Am a Cat', a book I have been wanting to read for quite some time. Though not far in to its 638 pages, it has already begun to delight me, and after a literary lull since arriving in Japan, it is nice to be able to get lost in the world of words again.
It's raining here today in Osaka. Raining like it has no intention of stopping any time soon. I don't mind it either; in fact the sound is rather soothing and peaceful given the heavy mood in the apartment.
Relationships are funny things... and Japan is a funny place. Strange at times, for a girl like me.
I have been a little disheartened of late; artistic inspiration has not come easy or not come at all since I arrived back here on April 17. There has been a lot going on in my relationship and career that has caused even more to be going on inside my head. It's busier up there than usual at the moment, and it's hardly ever quiet.
The city here itself was starting to weigh me down in some ways, not that I am ungrateful for this whole experience, but I felt I had to remove myself from it for a day and get out into some kind of wilderness if that was possible.
On Thursday we travelled to Koyasan and hiked an ancient pilgrimage route that saw us on foot for over 21km. Mount Koya is the centre of Shingon Buddhism, a Buddhist sect which was introduced to Japan in 805 by Kobo Daishi, who is one of the most significant figures in Japan's religious history. The walk was a strain physically at times, as there were a number of steep sections, both uphill and downhill, the latter being more of a strain. Mentally however, it was clarifying and somewhat relaxing. It allowed me to remember some of the reasons I fell in love with this place and re-united me with some aspects of my initial 'Japanese-born' inspiration. Whilst walking, not only was I put in touch with every part of my body and used parts of my lungs that I had not used in a long time, I also felt re-connected to the spiritual side of Japan's rich history that has intrigued me so much in the past.
I started this blog entry at 10:46am. It is now 6:08pm. I have been outside, walked in the rain, eaten at Maman macrobiotic kitchen - one of the few 'healthier' options in eating venues we have found thus far in this city of fast and fried food. I am sure there are other places scattered amongst the thousands of varied clothing stores, that sell everything from 5 dollar diamante clad t-shirts with bad English translations to Chanel and Louis Vuitton. This city's 'culture' is very much one of shopping and eating, not so much one that embraces or supports an active art scene. Actually, from my experience thus far, the art scene here is all but dead - if it ever existed in the first place. There are a number of small galleries and art hangs in various little cafes around town, but I must say, despite my current disillusionment in regards to commercial galleries back home, being here has given me a greater appreciation for Australia's art scene as a whole - which to me at least seems ever evolving and somewhat dynamic as opposed to a rather stagnant one here. Perhaps with more investigation I shall find myself pleasantly surprised, but I am not holding my breath. I am however looking forward to visiting Tokyo later this month. Yesterday I received an invitation and complimentary tickets to Design Festa, which I had planned to go to anyway. It will be held in Tokyo on the 26th and 27th of this month. Design Festa claims to be Asia's biggest international art event. It began in 1994 and is held twice a year, showcasing artists from all over the world. I'd planned to get a booth but ran out of time, not to mention ran out of work due to other commitments.
Despite having travelled to Japan 4 times now, I am yet to visit Tokyo. I have spent most of my time in Kyoto, and now Osaka, so I am sure it will be an experience where I will see yet another side to Japan.
For now though, the rain continues to fall in the city of Osaka.
I am living in Japan, I should be blogging so much more than I have been, but I feel rather uninspired of late. Creatively that is.
I am having a love-hate relationship with many things at the moment. Though it sounds far more dramatic than it is.
I think I need to get out of the city for a while.
After 5 days of late rising, resting and a couple of pleasant day trips, I got myself down to my favourite art store in Osaka today to buy some materials for my next body of work. I met up with a Japanese friend of mine, who also happens to be an artist, at the art store, then we had lunch at the gallery she will be exhibiting in next week.
It seems I am not the only one who has felt a little uninspired of late.
I guess after every exhibition I have, there is a kind of lull, as I have focused so much time and energy on one particular body of work and when it's all done, there is a sense of satisfaction, relief, followed by exhaustion. Creative exhaustion, not wanting to sound too dramatic...but it can sometimes take a while for me to get motivated again. The lull is always temporary. I must say though, that this year finds me terribly disappointed in the commercial gallery world. It's no wonder more and more artists are turning to self management and using vessels such as the world wide web to promote themselves and deal directly with their clients. It seems that is a good way to avoid the communication breakdown that often happens with a middle man.
I feel somewhat despondent.
I arrived back in Osaka on Tuesday evening.
It felt somewhat surreal as I flew into this city for the fourth time.
It was a whirlwind visit to Melbourne, the two weeks just flew and before I knew it I was flying back to Japan. For someone with a fear of flying I have certainly done a lot of it recently.
I felt a little awkward being back here. My heart has two homes right now. My mind is still racing from the pace of the past few months, my body is telling it to slow down. I am trying to meet them both somewhere in the middle. The ongoing strive for balance.
Since arriving here in February, I had been so busy that I did not get an opportunity to visit Kyoto, one of my favourite places in the world, due to the preparation for my Melbourne exhibition. Yesterday, however, I was fortunate enough to have the opportunity and time to visit that wonderful part of the world, and although the cherry blossoms have almost disappeared, I was able to see the last of the season and get an idea of just how beautiful Spring is over here.
I am still inspired by this place.
I have stopped. Stopped to take a breath.
My exhibition opened on Wednesday evening.
Another year, another opening, and other body of work.
Today was my first day of doing nothing in a very long time and it felt good.
I will return to Japan on Tuesday, perhaps to bare blossom trees and warmer weather, and start a new body of work soon after that. I have some new ideas that I am quite excited about and I look forward to exploring them.
For the next few days, however, I am happy to forget about- (or put aside)- art or at least the process behind my creation of it, and just reflect.
The works can be viewed here
http://blog.myspace.com/karmacops
Age is a funny thing. I often forget my own, temporarily. I have to keep reminding myself of how old, or young, I am. It seems irrelevant at times.
I have not been asked my age by many people since turning 33 in February, so I am still inclined to answer 32 when prompted. I’m still the same person, just 12 months older.
Have I really changed in the past year? In the past 5 years? Longer? I still like sad songs and red wine. I still don’t eat meat. I still possess, and am pursuing, my artistic dreams and desires. I am not, and have never been, married and I possess no desire to have children. Is the latter selfish? To some maybe, to me it’s just honest. I still make mistakes that I don’t necessarily learn from and I still have many, many questions – some that I am almost certain will never be answered. According to my mother, I am still impulsive. This was recently said in a way that suggested perhaps I am getting a little too old to be this way inclined but it was not said with a vindictive tongue, just that of a caring and concerned mother. I guess mothers have a way about them, although I can only really vouch for my own. I love her dearly and I would have to suggest that she knows me better than anyone else, and, usually much to my dismay, perhaps even better than I know myself at times, which, on the other hand, can also be somewhat comforting on occasion.
Do I feel 33? What is 33 meant to feel like? I feel tired, mentally and physically, but not defeated or ungrateful. My body feels as though it has lived every moment of at least 33 years, but I say this not in a negative sense. Some days my physical aches and pains, which are neither great nor insignificant, remind me of how fortunate I am to have these 33 years under my belt and still be here. They, along with more pleasurable feelings can make me feel as though I have lived. I don’t like taking things forgranted, but I admit I often do.
I currently feel a little ‘in limbo’. I suppose it is not surprising given my current situation. That of having relocated to Osaka, Japan in early February this year. At the moment I am home, well, I am in Melbourne, the place I have at least always thought of as home. I have come here for two weeks due to my exhibition at Jackman Gallery, which opens next Wednesday evening, April 11. This will be my fifth consecutive year showing with them and as much as I am looking forward to again seeing a new body of work on their white walls I am feeling as though I am entering a transitional phase as an artist. I am in two minds about having an annual exhibitions in commercial galleries.
The art world is a funny place, not necessarily in a ‘ha ha’ way either. Being an artist can be incredibly trying at times and although there are times when doubt creeps in and I come close to taking on a defeatist’s attitude, I could not be any other way. It is a necessity for me to make art, even when I do not really like what I am creating. It is a process, something that is ever evolving. It is a passion. One that I cannot control, for it controls me. It is my life. I don’t know if anyone, other than another artist, can really understand this and other things involved with being such. Though I could be wrong. Passion covers much ground.
I am rambling, yes, but not whining. I can honestly say I am truly grateful to be in a position that allows me to explore and pursue the life of a so called artist. It is in no way glamorous but it is always interesting.
By no means do I consider myself a simple person, in fact I have been told by many that I am the complete opposite, that being complex. I do however, at times, desire the simple things in life. Even if just to give my over active mind and imagination a rest for a while. It does not often work. I laugh at myself sometimes, not out of humour, but for the fact that if I do not, I could cry. I think people have a tendency to take life too seriously at times, and I am certainly no exception. However, it is not my desire to be careless nor callus either. A good balance of frivolity and compassion would be desirable. Balance being the key word.
The Game
The words are stuck
To the inside of my skull
Though even if
They were to escape
They may possess no answers
No solutions
Perhaps not even one single suggestion
They could perhaps
Be as useless
As words on a scrabble board
There for no other reason
Than a game
Such is life
One big game
And every day
We play
Home. Or at least in Melbourne. Where or what is home really?
I arrived in Melbourne on Sunday and it felt rather odd to be back here. Although I had only been away for 2 months, living in Osaka has had quite an impact on me. Having said that, in other ways, it felt almost surreal...like I had dreamt the whole thing and the only reminder of reality were the two 100 yen coins on the dresser next to the bed.
I delivered my paintings to Jackman Gallery today, after finishing the final one on the evening I arrived home. I was a bit nervous about having them stretched in case any got damaged, not having painted on unstretched canvas before. However, I was pleased with the final outcome and happy to have been able to find someone who could do the job in such a short turn around, and for less than half the price I was originally quoted by another framer.
I feel a slight sense of relief and also one of achievement. It's been a very hectic past few months.
I set out in search of cherry blossoms today.
I fly home tomorrow, for a couple of weeks, due to my exhibition, which just so happens to coincide with cherry blossom season.
My third time in Japan and I am still yet to witness sakura in its full glory. However, I was fortunate enough to see the beginnings of the blooming beauty that captures a nation for a brief part of April each year.
They will most likely have fully bloomed and fallen to the ground by the time I return but I am thankful to have been able to get a glimpse of Spring today whilst walking through the grounds of Osaka Castle.
I feel all painted out. We had a preview of my works here this evening, which was nice. I feel a sense of achievement but also slightly exhausted. I look forward to putting my brushes down for a while and giving my mind and body a rest. Painting on unstretched canvas has some advantages but it has been cruel to my back. I miss doing yoga and would love to take it up again in the near future.
I feel a mild sense of anxiety about leaving here... or perhaps about going home.
I feel tired...and rightly so at this hour.
I just got back from a brisk walk though the tiny streets of my area.
I have been inside painting all day as it has been raining outside since early this morning. I needed to stretch my legs and thought I'd go for a walk to my favourite 100yen store to buy some embroidery thread for my work.
Whilst there, I wandered through the store curiously exploring, as I always do, and every time I discover something new...often useless, but usually good for a laugh. Today was no exception. As I walked through the kids toy section, I found something most bizarre. And whilst it has nothing to do with art, I thought it to be deserving of not only a purchase, but also photographic presence on my blog.
The only English to be found on the packet reads: inflatable wild swan.
Now the picture of the manga-esque girl in her ballet outfit I can understand. The man, however, I am having a little bit of trouble with...remembering that this was in the kids section.
Very odd.
I must say, it has been a different experience painting on unstretched canvas. It has pros and cons compared to working with stretched canvas. It's harder to get a sense of the final work without the neat edged frame that a stretcher provides. One of the good things about working on stretched canvas is that you can sit it upright, or hang it, whilst still painting to get a better look at the piece in progress as a whole. Looking down on the unstretched pieces is not the same...after all, a completed painting is ultimately hung on a wall not laid flat on the floor.
It has been nice to get them up on the wall in the apartment. Not only does the apartment feel a little more like a 'home' with my art on the wall, but it also gives me a chance to view them in a different light and perhaps get a better idea of how my exhibition will hang.
I feel slightly exhausted but I also feel as though I have accomplished a fair bit since arriving and setting up house in a new country. We are even planning on having a little preview evening in the apartment on Friday, for our neighbours and newfound art enthusiast friends. Technically - my first exhibition in Japan - ha! Even if it is for one evening only.
This time next week I am due to be home in Melbourne with my unstretched canvas works which I will take to get stretched the following day.
Yesterday, my father turned 74.
Today, in Japan, there was an earthquake.
The Japan Meteorological Agency originally estimated the quake's magnitude at 7.1 but later revised it to 6.9...still pretty high in my opinion and the after shocks, of which there were about 100, were spread far and wide. We had one here. I had just got back from a morning supermarket run and was unloading the fresh produce into the fridge when my partner, who was still in bed, called out to stand still for a second. "Can you feel the tremor?" he asked. I was in a squat position at the fridge, (as everything in our place is of small proportion), and stopped what I was doing, expecting I would have to 'try' to feel this tremor he had mentioned. Within seconds, the fridge was rocking and seconds later the whole apartment block was rocking, literally! We were both silent for most of the tremor's duration, which seemed to last a good minute, although it was possibly half that. It's funny, the silence was almost one of those, 'if we are really quiet and don't move it will stop' silences... not that silence has ever stopped a quake.
When the tremor stopped we began breathing again and I walked into the bedroom, where we both watched the light that was still swinging over our heads.
It was quite surreal.
We turned the television on afterwards and saw footage from a very shaky camera. We could not understand what was being said as everything was in Japanese but we got the general gist from a map of Japan that was being displayed, along with the Richter scale numbers of all the aftershocks. It said 3 for Osaka.
In later news it was reported that a 52-year-old woman died in Wajima, a resort and fishing town on the western side of the Noto peninsula, after being trapped under a stone lantern that toppled in her garden. A freak occurrence caused by a freak of nature.
I can't even begin to imagine the devastation and panic caused by the Great Hanshin Earthquake disaster in Kobe, in 1995, which killed over 6,000. When I visited Kobe in 2005 it was hard to believe that only 10 years prior that city had suffered such a disaster.
The earth is a bizarre place.
I ventured up to the rooftop today, for the first time since my unsavoury experience. I have reclaimed it as my own! As my studio under the sun. The weather has been uninviting this past week and even though I was disillusioned recently, I would have ventured up there sooner had the weather permitted. Despite a determined wind, that I have battled with several times already today whilst applying a layer of collage, the sun is shining, and I am more determined than any breeze.
I am using the rooftop and the 'tiny' studio today, which involves lots of running up and down stairs, so in a sense, I am getting my daily exercise in as well...something I have neglected a little of late. When I first arrived, I was walking approximately 6km every day. That lasted for around 2 weeks. The past two have seen a steady decline in any physical exercise. The weather in uninspiring and my painting takes priority.
I still have much to do before flying home for my exhibition in April.
Today, I found this in a 100yen shop.
I thought it was rather fitting. Not only the sentiment, but the fact that it was a pencil case; the pencil being just one instrument that can help project and develop my creative dreams and ideas. A dream storage case. That thought, and 'it', made me smile.
Sometimes...it really is the little things...and from little things, big things grow (again).
I despise this feeling of complete vulnerability.
At this very moment I feel like a shadow of my former self, and that former self was right here only 48 hours ago. Now I feel she is staring at me through the rear view mirror, wondering what the hell happened.
Dramatic words, perhaps, but I have been emotionally effected in a way I have never been before.
The sun is out today, yet I feel too anxious to venture on to the roof top. I have no desire to step outside and I am searching high and low for the desire to paint. I know I need to.
I feel like I can see everything but cannot touch it.
I do hope this subsides. I need to make friends with time.
It's amazing how less than 48 hours after having a wonderful day in Osaka and writing about how much I love Japan, one arsehole can flip my whole perspective on things.
Yesterday, for the first time since arriving, I just wanted to go home. What's worse, is that it totally effected my creative drive and production today, to the point where I wanted to slash my unstretched canvas and pack away my paint and brushes.
I felt as though my dream, and with it my inspiration, was ripped out of my guts and squashed on the pavement of a nearby district. One I had to walk to yesterday to collect a parcel I was looking forward to receiving. One I never want to set foot near again. One where I encountered a horrible incident, perhaps one of blatent racism. An incident that made me feel completely helpless and threatened. Fearful even.
I feel disappointed, even a little angry. I feel uninspired artistically as I feel like all that has inspired me in recent times has just let me down.
I was however fortunate enough to encounter two angels. Their goodwill could be something I can hold onto in order to restore my faith and hopefully my inspiration. I should not let the actions of one take away all that is good in others, or crush my dream, or erase my inspiration.
Actually, I am really fucking angry, and grateful...for very different reasons.
Today was a glorious day in Osaka. The nicest day weather wise, by far, since I arrived here on February 10th.
I had planned to spend the day painting, but like most people in Osaka today, the weather persuaded me to spend some quality time outdoors. I almost felt guilty for it until arriving at the grounds of Osaka Castle and seeing the splendid plum blossoms that have begun blooming.
My day quickly became a day for sourcing inspiration, and inspiration flowed like sake and plum wine from the cups of the lovers sitting under the blossom trees.
The walk to the grounds was also full of inspiring aesthetics as temples and shrines were stumbled upon, bringing back memories of my visits to Kyoto.
I often get asked, as an artist, why I am so influenced by Japan. It is sometimes a difficult question to answer without rambling or going off on some kind of dreamy tangent that perhaps others find hard to follow. I guess one would have to come here to experience Japan for oneself to truly understand it's appeal and unique charm. It is quite possible that there are people who visit here and form no particular attachment to anything about the place, I am not one of those people, and it's days like today that re-enforce the fact that I am the complete opposite.
Japan continues to delight and inspire me.
The wind has picked up over the past couple of days so I have limited my time on the rooftop due to the fact that I have not completely warded off this cold. I have been painting mostly inside for the last 2 days, in my 'tiny studio'. I just stepped out to get some groceries and came across this little face washer, which I had to buy, for all of 60 yen, as it sums things up perfectly.
Happy birthday
To me
Under the Cherry tree
At 33
I turn 33 in 20 minutes. I get to be 32 for two hours longer than I would if I was still in Australia. So technically 32 was a longer year. It is my first birthday away from home. There have been a few times where birthdays did not seem that special, or that much different to any other day. I had the ritualistic 'big bash' for my 16th, 18th and 21st, the first two being really just an excuse for a party and a chance to get drunk. Funnily enough, I was drunk for none of them as I was too busy running around and making sure everyone else was ok and having a good time.
In more recent years I have come to appreciate each birthday as something of a milestone. An acheivement. Each new year, reminding me how fortunate I am to be able to see it in. This year shall be no exception. I am fortunate...fortunate to be here in Japan, and whilst I am far away from many people that I love dearly, I am following a long time artistic and adventurous dream of mine. I have always wanted to paint and live overseas, in particular - in Japan. I am most fortunate to be able to say that I am now doing that...at 32, and soon at 33.
Sleep would be most welcome right now.
I have had one good nights sleep since we arrived. Last night being the worst. Not a very productive weekend due to developing a 'welcome to Japan in Winter' cold that nearly everyone in Osaka has had, has or is going to get. The heating is department stores and other shops is ridiculous here. So incredibly drying and dehydrating. You go from being incredibly cold outside to being on the verge of passing out from dehydration once inside. It's no wonder 50% of the people out and about are wearing masks...a good indication of how many locals it also effects.
The past two days have been very cold, possibly the coldest since we arrived on the 10th. There is a chill in the air here that chills the marrow in your bones. I have been to colder places at colder times, but I am certainly feeling the cold right now. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I have come from a hot Melbourne Summer where the average temperature was in the low to mid 30's for some time prior to our departure. Still I am glad to be here, although I must say that feeling unwell whilst overseas does make you appreciate good health and the little comforts of home that we so often take forgranted.
I was very fortunate to be able to enjoy a few consecutive days of good weather during this Japanese Winter that allowed me to try out my rooftop studio. Spring is not too far away now, and considering this was apparently a 'mild' Winter, (I would not have liked to have been here for anything less mild), it may even come early this year, bringing the finer, warmer weather with it.
Despite having been to Japan twice previously, it is still somewhat of a culture shock to actually move here. I am carrying a much different mentality this time around, completely different to that of a tourist. It has been an interesting two weeks, there is still much to explore and I am still settling into my new environment, physically and psychologically. There is always an adjustment period. I look forward to settling in a little more as each week passes, and to many more days of painting on the rooftop.
My new studio is on the rooftop of our apartment building in Osaka.
It is a temporary set up of course, or a 'mobile studio', as the weather is not always reliable, however, these past two days have been perfect for painting out doors so I have spent the best part of both of them in, or should I say 'on' the rooftop studio. It is much bigger than my more permanent set up inside the apartment and it is abundent with natural light. The view is also fabulous, even if it is rather urban. Now all I need to do is be able to upload photos on here!
I am still having trouble working with Japanese computers...
I tried uploading photos to my blog from my data traveler but to no avail. For a minute I even thought I had deleted them all and had a mild panic attack as that little tool is my folio whilst I am over here.
I think I will store it safely away until my knowledge of hiragana, katakana and kanji is a little better...or at least until we get the internet set up in our apartment.
I will keep an analogue blog in relation to my time in Japan until I can sort out something online.
I have set up a little studio space in the apartment and despite the lack of natural light in that space, I am fairly content with my efforts in setting up my own space here is Osaka.
I even managed to prepare a surface on one of my canvases last night and as it is raining here today, I am thinking it is a great day for being indoors and getting stuck into my art.
I am a happy camper.
Thanks to the internet and Jacob I found a Tokyu Hands store. They only had rather small stretched canvas of not the best quality but I at least felt I was getting somewhere, and with the help of my broken Japanese and the assistants broken English I was directed to a wonderful art supplies store called Kawachi. They had everything I needed and more... needless to say I was like a kid in a candy store. What a massive city this is. I am out on my own today, wandering, picking up a few things before heading back to the apartment to get stuck into my painting. Lots to discover yet! The adventure has just begun.
Now I just need to work out the computer system over here until we get our own connection at the apartment in order to upload images and understand what is on my screen!
Well...I made it.
I am sitting in an internet cafe in Namba, struggling with the Japanese characters on my screen and sometimes keyboard and desperately trying to find an art supply store in the area. I have been here only two days and I miss painting. I am so eager to start painting that I find it hard to sit still.
This time, three weeks from now, I will be on a plane to Japan.Returning to the land of the rising sun.The land of green teaand cherry blossomsred maple leavesand bamboo butterflies
cold soba
and hot sake
woodblock prints
and Astro Boy
painted ladies
and paper lanterns
tatami and tofu
miso and matcha
ponds and pondering
singing cicadas
and wind-up birds...
The land of my inspiration.
My Peace Lily plant has bloomed once again, only this year, for the first time ever, it has two beautifully shaped white flowers.
I'll hold on tightly to the symbolism...to my interpretation. I am open to interpretation.
I am the space between. The 'i' between the L's. Tom Waits sings In Between Love. I am in between. A rock and a hard place? No! In between a great place and a potentially wonderful one.
I am just as nervous as I am excited about Japan. I can already see my work evolving in relation to emotion and potential experience. I am trying to figure out what I am going to take with me, in regards to art materials, or whether it is best to start from scratch once I am over there. I am envisaging a lot of works on paper.
I feel inspired today, so I paint...and I write.
There is so much to do whilst in between.
As I sat painting on Tuesday morning my partner sat writing. It is nice to see him getting back into his world of words; his passion.He wrote as he watched me paint and listened to me asking myself questions, at times directing them his way, not necessarily expecting any answers.His response came in the form of prose as he read this to me...
She is painting
Mixing colours
Will I have pink lips or red lips?
Questions like these are such a pleasure
On a hot day
In January
Of course I don’t answer
Straight away
Give it time
My old head tells me
No sense jumping into anything
No sense making a mess
Of such a beautiful dayWell…
Are those ones pink?I point to a completed piece
Yes…
With a hint of disbelief
Can’t you tell?I ended up going with pink, but I am still not entirely sure they will stay that colour. They may change yet.
I dyed my hair black this morning, in order to closer resemble my image on canvas, well, partly...and partly because I enjoy having black hair. I have dyed it on a regular basis since the age of 14.
I was born with a mop of jet black hair, but it all fell out, then grew back much fairer.
I think I am happier with black hair.
Now I just have to decide on the lips.
Choice. It's all about choice.
Only to start a new cycle.I did not fulfill my hope of painting for the best part of the day yesterday, the first of 2007. However, I am making up for it today, and as I realise just how quickly departure date is approaching, I am entering into a 'mild(?)' state of panic mode, which may become more and more chaotic and intense in the coming weeks.Much to do...much to do.
There is just one hour left of 2006.I often thrive on symbolism, and the end of one year and beginning of the next is no exception.
In this hour my mind will race as I regress, looking back on this past year.I'm tired.I am at home tonight with no desire to be amongst anything remotely party-esque. For me new years eve is a time to reflect, not get 'shit-faced' and rowdy.
I find entering a new year a very humbling experience, it is a time for me to be grateful rather than gregarious.We saw M.Ward play last night at The Corner Hotel. He was fabulous, inspiring and worthy of more than this brief mention in my blog. Alas, I am tired and do not feel much like writing, but I did want to make one final entry before seeing this year out.With my 'end of year self reflection' comes a lot of thoughts about my art. I have made myself some promises, or should I say resolutions, regarding this, along with a couple of others. Hopefully all will benefit my artistic endeavours. I have not painted, really painted, for over a week now and it is starting to play heavily on my mind. I plan to spend a good proportion of 2007's first day immersing myself in my art, (and listening to M. Ward).
I am glad Christmas is over. Not to sound too negative, as my Christmas was quite ok. Really though, it is just another day for me - it's just that many people have other ideas and expectations for the 'jolly' season. Now that some of those expectations have been met, or ignored, I am getting stuck into my painting.
Although I enjoy the act of giving gifts more than receiving them, I must say I was given some wonderful inspiration for Christmas. Amongst other things, my partner gave me a book on Egon Schiele that I have desired for quite some time, he also surprised me with two complete series of Dr. Katz on dvd, and although this may seem to have nothing at all to do with art, for me, it has.
Dr. Katz is my animated hero, as is his son, Ben, and his receptionist, Laura. Dr. Katz is my claytons therapist...the therapist I have whilst not really having a therapist. I was never a big TV viewer but I was fortunate enough to stumble across Dr. Katz on SBS a number of years ago and it appealed to my obscure sense of humour. In many ways, subtle and otherwise, it has been an ongoing influence for me in both art and writing and is one thing that never fails to make me laugh.
I once had a video tape of many episodes that I had diligently taped from SBS over the period of around 12 months, perhaps more, as it was not always a regular programme. This tape was my friend. It was my therapy. It was an escape. (It was only a TV show?) Sure it was, but to me it was also something else, and one day, whilst living in Prahran, my temporary flatmate 'accidentally' taped over every single episode. I was most upset.
I do my very best not to get attached to material possessions but I had a relationship with this particular item that I do not expect anyone else to understand. The joy has now been restored and the laughter can once again flow freely.
Am I over dramatising? For the sake of writing, yes, a little, but as I said, I do not expect anyone else to understand.
As I sit here writing, for the sake of writing, I am listening to one of the most beautiful songs that I believe exists: Martha by Tom Waits. I have listened to this song hundreds, possibly thousands, of times, but the time that stands out was a couple of years ago, whilst sitting on my (ex)boyfriend's bed. I was alone in the room and although I knew the song well, I think it was the first time I really listened to the lyrics. I remember crying, initially not even realising why I was crying, but by the end of the song I realised I was shedding tears over the impermanence of everything in life and in love and there was a part of me that knew many things I had there and then that day, were going to come to an end some day. Many of them did, including the relationship.
That song can still make me cry, but I think I cry with a greater acceptance now, to a certain extent, though I must admit there are some things in life I don't think I will ever understand or even begin to accept, not with any grace anyway.
I did accept my gifts with grace though and I have fallen in love with Egon Schiele's work once again.
With that said I should ride this wave of inspiration away from the keyboard.
I have tried to make my silly season as short as I can and now, for me, it is painting season once again. I have a lot to do before the big move.
It looks as though I could turn 33 in the land of the rising sun.My partner has been offered a job in Japan. It has been a dream of mine to experience living overseas, especially in Japan, for some time now, and it finally looks as though that dream will become a reality. I am just as nervous as I am excited...as well as a little lost for words.
I think the experience will have a huge impact on my art, and that is something I feel ecstatic about.
I have just come home from a rather frenetic day about town. My reason for travelling into town was to fulfill my promise to myself, my partner and my pre-made appointment, and get my tooth filled. I did so with a little help from my friend xanax. After the dentist, all I wanted to do was come home and paint but my friend had caused me to feel rather weary... so instead I decided to attempt a little Christmas shopping. (I also managed to get over to the other side of town to pick up the rest of my new canvases for my next exhibition - which was a far more enjoyable experience than the dentist).
I am not really big on the whole Christmas thing, not that I am a Scrooge either, it's just that I tend to like the freedom and randomness of buying something for people I love when I see something that I know they would really like, enjoy and appreciate. I don't like the expectations that come with occasions such as Christmas and birthdays.I did not last long amongst the frantic crowds and the suffocating atmosphere they were creating, although I did manage to buy a couple of things for my partner and my mother, two of the three people I really want to buy something for. However, if I had the time, I would just paint something for all those I love. It is only time that prevents, or should I say delays, me from doing so. The ideas and inspiration are certainly there. I could think of nothing better than giving such a personal gift to those dear to me. Maybe next year.
It must be the time of year. I have felt as if I have been so incredibly busy these past few weeks, and not just in a physical or practical sense, my mind has been busy too - the latter possibly causing the slight feeling of exhaustion and at times frustration.
I am working on four paintings at the moment and I am struggling to finish one as I am finding myself getting bored or lacking discipline with one piece only to then start a new one. I have worked this way in the past and it has not been a problem, I am used to having more than one work on the go at any given time, however, it just seems to be creating a more chaotic feeling for me at the moment.
The new year is fast approaching, and as I do every year at this time, I am finding myself assessing and reassessing my current position and realising all the things that have changed since the last assessment and those that haven't along with those that I want to change and those that I don't. I also realise that despite often being quite a self absorbed artist, I am also a grateful one.
I feel that artistically I have had a very productive year and I am happy with where I am at with my work and what I have planned for my next exhibition, however, I feel I could have made better use of my time this past year. I guess that's one thing about moving house too often, it can be just as unsettling as it is exciting, and sometimes by the time you feel settled and comfortable with your new surroundings and create the order you so desire, it is time to move and change again.
I'm rambling. I'm rambling because I know I should be painting instead of writing. I should be using my time more productively, but an outlet is sometime a necessity.
Some days I could swear I have no idea who I am...other than an artist. Some days art is all I know.
I had forgotten the amount of patience required to 'paint' the outlines of my hard-edged and graphic style work as opposed to hand-stitching them. The stitching did required a huge amount of patience and concentration and I nearly always pricked my finger and/or thigh whilst sewing into the canvas. My thumb was often red, sore and throbbing by the end of a day spent in my studio. However, these new pieces are demanding a lot more of the 'P' word than my other recent work has.
I decided recently that I wanted the hand-stitching to take a less dominant role in my new work. The decision was made for many reasons, the main ones being the constant desire to evolve and experiment with my work, and so as not to get to the point where my work became too predictable.
For me, the hand-stitching was, and still is, very symbolic - only now on a different level. I still have many ideas and uses for that and other mediums in my work but I have had a strong desire of late to get back in touch with the 'detailed brush'.
I have been looking through a lot of images of my early work, and some of my more recent work, and assessing the differences and similarities, the growth and changes, and the continuing and changing influences.
Just like in life, there is a certain cyclic quality, and each new cycle is entered into with more knowledge and experience than the previous one. As an artist, and as a human being, I am always learning - through art and through life - and once again, I am forced to re-learn the art of patience (with these new works).
I am not a very patient person, as a general rule, except when it comes to my art, it is the one thing I must reserve patience for.
The relentless Victorian Summer seems to come without too much warning. It seems to go from one extreme to the other in a very short period of time.
Today, whilst I paint, much of Victoria burns. Evidence of bushfires is everywhere, even in non-affected areas, as smoke drifts through the sky and atmosphere making everyone aware that danger time has hit.
It must be terrifying for the people in the directly affected and threatened areas.
Whilst many Victorians are seeking refuge from the heat at our beaches, many others are praying and doing all they can to save their homes and belongings. The 'season to be jolly' is turning into an awful nightmare for some.
Nature's elements, at their best and worst, are always unpredictable.
I paint inside today as outside it is not only thick-aired and hazy from the smoke, but a very stifling 37 degrees - (at least that was the predicted forecast, I've a feeling it may be higher).
On days like this I barely venture outside. As Summer progresses and the beaches nearby become more and more crowded with each Summer weekend, I lock myself away in my studio. The beaches will still be there long after the masses have departed at the end of silly season.
The tourists can have the beaches, I've got my art, and for now, I am happy being a Summer studio hermit.
Whilst at my parent's house yesterday, and inspired by a recent conversation with a friend, I fished out my old high school reports. It was somewhat amusing reading my teacher's perception of my character and ability.
I never really liked school. I was the class clown and somewhat rebellious. Not one who showed much interest in anything other than art. I was quite fond of reading and writing so English began as a subject that interested me - but as my progressive reports showed, I soon lost interest when the teachers began telling me what I should read and how I should write. When I look back on those days, it is the art classes that hold most of my fond student memories. I was fortunate enough to have the same teacher in years 7 and 9, who was very supportive and encouraging. I did not have as strong a rapport with my year 8 art teacher but she was still encouraging and recognised my ambition and dedication.
I had no interest in, or in some cases even a need for, subjects like maths, science, history and geography and I resented being in a situation where I felt forced to learn about or study things that I had no concern for or things I felt would not assist me in my future pursuits. It may seem a somewhat ignorant attitude but it was how I felt.
Art was all I ever wanted to do. As a child, I never dreamed of being a nurse, a vet or a ballerina like most of my class mates, I always answered 'artist' when asked that question: "so what do you want to be when you grow up?" My high school art teachers recognised this and I consider myself fortunate to have had their encouragement during those vulnerable and volitile years of my early teens.
I was also fortunate enough to have very supportive and understanding parents who, despite struggling to understand many things about me during my rebellious teens, (or at least that's what I thought at that age), understood my passion and determination. When I told them I wanted to leave school at 15 years of age they did not flinch, instead, we sat down and had a rational discussion about what I wanted to do instead and they agreed wholeheartedly. I left school on a Wednesday in November 1989 and began working as a graphic designer the following Monday. I stayed in my first job for over 8 years - five years longer than I lasted in high school. I think that speaks for itself.
My mother and I took my grandparents out for lunch yesterday.After driving them back home, I asked about an old photograph of me I believed they had. It was a photograph of me drawing. It was taken at kindergarten and I remember it clearly. It used to hang in my grandparent's bedroom before they moved to the retirement village.
I remember my childhood face looking at the camera as I leant over my drawing in purple crayon on yellow paper, (back then with no idea I was producing a complimentary colour harmony work). I remember often looking at that photograph when visiting my grandparents as a child and thinking about how I wanted to, and was going to, be an artist.In searching for this photo, (which I did not end up finding), I fossicked through dozens of others, some dating back to the 30's and 40's, before my grandparents came to Australia. ( My grandmother is German, my grandfather, Russian. My mother was born in Germany in 1947. The three of them travelled by boat to Australia in 1949. My mother had her second birthday whilst on board. The journey took around 4 weeks ).
My grandparents moved to the retirement village around 7 years ago, and in moving to a much smaller place, many things were either disposed of or placed into boxes. It had been a long, long time since my grandparents had looked at these photos and I was so glad I took them out yesterday.
That shoebox was full of so many memories, both joyful and sad. It was a beautiful moment for three generations of my family to be sharing those memories together. Watching the expressions on my mother's face as she looked through photos of herself as a little girl, some taken on the boat on which she arrived in Australia. My gradmother's expressions as she looked at early photographs of her family, before and after marriage and motherhood. My grandfather boasting about how handsome he was whilst looking at images of his young self and remembering his days as a draftsman.
From the little doll of my mothers that her brother destroyed to the house my grandfather built in Altona when they first arrived here - every single picture told a story that at least one of us remembered clearly and we told some of these stories to each other as we looked through these images from our family's history.
Some of my favourites were those of my mother as a little girl on the boat and a wonderful image of my grandmother with their first television set.
Despite not finding the photograph I was looking for, I was happy to discover and rediscover so many others. I had not seen my grandmother smile this much in a long time. It was truly special and reminded me of the importance of documentation.
Summer is definitely here.
I have just returned home from a trip to the city. I made a deal with my partner that I would go to the dentist for a check up before Christmas. I have a tendency to put things like this off for a very long time, coming up with the lamest excuses as to why I can't go just yet or "I'll do it after my birthday" - which then became after my exhibition, which then became after Winter and so on. So, with Christmas and my next birthday fast approaching, I bit the bullet and went to have my incisors, canines and molars checked out.
I'd been dreading this visit as I was certain it would result in follow up visits and enormous bills right before Christmas. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that I only need one procedure done, a filling where part of a lower molar has broken - no doubt from clenching my teeth. It has been this way since 2003 so I thought myself lucky that this was all that was needed.
This has nothing to do with art, in fact, it is something that took me away from my art today. However, I was hoping to see the Tezuka exhibition at the NGV after my oral examination. Much to my dismay, I arrived at the doors of the NGV only to discover that they are closed on Tuesdays. I was not aware of this. So instead, I drove home (around an hour and a half trip) in the unrelenting heat of mid-afternoon.
The air conditioner in my car has not worked well, if at all, since a minor 'bingle' last year, and despite having it fixed, (or so I was told), it is still struggling. It is a luxury I can happily live without but I will say that at one stage I truly felt I was melting as my hands kept sliding off the steering wheel.
I used to hate Summer. I have very pale skin and also used to be prone to headaches, sometimes migraines, in the heat. Now, however, there is something about the heat that I love. I am not one to lie on the beach for hours, I've no desire for a tan and I do my best to keep out of the direct sun when at it's most potent and I can still get headaches from the heat if I am not well hydrated. The thing that I do enjoy though is hard to put into words. Despite feeling as though I was melting yesterday, with my sliding hands, damp skin, pulsating head and clinging clothes, there is a certain invigoration I feel now that I never used to.
When my partner and I travelled to Japan last year it was very hot, a thick and humid kind of hot. I remember our first day in Kyoto, he was tired and mildly exhausted from the heat, (which is exactly how I would have been a few years earlier), but for some reason I was full of energy, as if I was solar powered.
It is said that there are certain feelings, sometimes extremities, that make us feel really alive or 'energised'. I would never have thought that the heat of Summer would do this for me.
I used to also hate painting in the heat. Now, I enjoy it, and I also now have the room and facilities to paint outside, which, provided is not in the direct sun, is wonderful.
I just noticed the full moon. I had not realised it was that time of the lunar month. The past few weeks have gone by extremely fast. On noticing her this evening, I realised why I have been a bit 'all over the place' these past couple of days.I picked up four new canvases on Saturday. The weekend turned out to be slightly more social than I had expected so it was not until today that I was really able to spend quality time with my new additions to the studio. It's that time of year where social events are pretty much unavoidable, and whilst the weekend was enjoyable, I was extremely happy and appreciative to be able to get back into the studio today.
In recent years I have worked with a fairly restricted palette. It's not that I don't like colour, it's just that I have preferred applying it in a more subtle manner. Red, green, black and white featured heavily in my earlier work, and this year's exhibition was based on a Primary palette, using only red, blue and yellow, (or variations of), with black, white and grey. I have had numerous discussions on colour with many people in relation to my work and have never really had a strong desire to expand my palette too much - until now.
I have recently been reading, (and have been fascinated by), Victoria Finlay's book, Colour - Travels Through the Paintbox, which has made me and look at colour very differently and has inspired me to explore colour, within my own work, in greater depth and on a more emotional level. It is almost as though I have a greater appreciation for colour now and I am looking forward to introducing more and more into my work.
Today was a day for planning.I will pick up the first lot of my new canvases tomorrow and I am very anxious to get started on them. Most of today was spent making notes, writing down and sketching ideas for new works and working on a couple of smaller canvas pieces that will most likely end up being studies for larger works.Although a fresh-primed virgin canvas can sometimes be just as daunting as it is exciting, I am choosing to focus on the latter. For the first time in a long time I feel completely prepared for my next body of paintings.
I have been a reader and fan of Anais Nin's work for a number of years now. I was aware of her association with Henry Miller but up until now had not read anything of his. I know a few people who feel you should like either one or the other, but not both. I have heard people say a similar thing about Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes, (I own works by both of them), Jackson Pollock and Lee Krasner, and Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera. I find this a strange attitude to have, regardless of who they were as people, or how miserable or wonderful their relationships were, they were all passionate creators of their craft. I can understand someone liking the work of one more than the work of their lover, but to suggest that you can not enjoy both, that you must choose between the two - like taking sides - seems ludicrous to me. Especially when someone has not even read the work of the person they are criticising. 
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